Every Good Thing I've Ever Had
by karaokegal
Summary: Post ep for Birthmarks from a different point of view. 2500 words. Lots of angst.


I guess it was inevitable.

When I told House there was nothing he could do to get Wilson back, I didn't know exactly how determined he could be or for that matter how pathetic Wilson really was. Bad call on my part. Chase had tried to set me straight the minute he figured out who I was and what I was doing.

"Wilson'll be at House's door in a month tops. They'll be miserable, but at least they'll be miserable together."

"No way," I said, still convinced that I had these guys figured out. Hell I was so sure, I bet fifty. By my third week on the job, including a little inside work at House's apartment, I was sure that Mr. I'm Too Sexy For My Hair would have to pay up.

Who knew House's old man would kick the bucket?

Well, actually I knew. I'd been to Lexington, sniffed around the house and even gotten one of the nurses to give me the scoop on dad's deteriorating condition. I just didn't think it would matter. Even Cameron, who could have starred in her own remake of "Clueless" when it came to House, seemed to know that he had nothing good to say about his father.

So I showed up at House's place that afternoon, thinking we'd have our usual jam session, a few beers and some dinner, but the bike wasn't there. He could have been at the hospital working on a case, but I didn't think so. I started worrying. Between the pills and the attitude the guy was a disaster waiting to happen. Then I noticed the figure sitting on the front stairs, apparently waiting for me.

"I think you're about to be out of a job," she said, a little too smugly, but damn it was sexy the way she did it. What was it with House, anyway? Surrounded by some of the hottest babes I'd ever met, and still shelling out for the hookers. I didn't get it.

Cuddy took me to a nice Italian place. I tried calling her Lisa a few times, but it didn't feel right. What did House have against call people by their first names and why was it so contagious? Another mystery I'd try to figure out if I stayed around, which she was sure I wouldn't be, thanks to some very impressive, if completely illegal work with a hypodermic needle.

"So they go to a funeral together. Doesn't mean the next stop is Las Vegas for a quickie wedding. Wilson wants out. He's running for his life, so he's not the one on the bus next time."

She looked surprised for a second.

"What do you know about it?"

"I know that House still thinks he has nothing to feel guilty about, which pisses him off because he really does feel guilty."

Cuddy stopped in the middle of picking an olive out of my antipasto to give me a look that I'd have to say was dirty, and not in a way I would have liked.

"There's no way they can spend that much time together and not realize that they need each other, in spite of everything."

Now I got it. Kind of.

"You think I'm Yoko?"

"I'm just saying, House can handle exactly one relationship in his life at a time. Period. Wilson knows how to deal with him, and that's a good thing."

"For you and your hospital."

Her shrug was accompanied by a deep sigh, which did awesome things for her cleavage in that tight sweater and made my clothes feel a little tight too.

"You're too old to spend your time baby-sitting the kids."

I wanted the words back the minute they hit the air.

"You do know how bad that sounded?"

"I'm dumb, but I'm not that dumb." That got a smile. God, she was a beautiful woman. I decided to take one last shot. "Is this going anywhere besides me getting red sauce on my second best shirt?"

"I doubt it." She looked genuinely sorry. "I've got a whole hospital full of kids."

"But those two are special," I pointed out.

"Yeah."

I would have told her I hoped she was right about House and Wilson, if I thought it would get me anywhere, but I can't lie that well, so I had the scallopini, she stuck to a caesar salad. I got a whiff of anchovy when she kissed me on the cheek after dropping me off back at House's place.

No sign of life in the apartment. No motorcycle on the sidewalk. No reason not to go home and get the ice-cream truck.

House hadn't told me I couldn't put a few bugs in his place while I was there, and my guess was he figured I'd do it anyway. They weren't hard to spot, if you were looking. The brief was to find out all about James Wilson and if he really was Wilson's best friend, then House was fair game right?

OK, maybe it was a lame excuse. House was an interesting guy and I'm a curious one. It's why I got into this job in the first place. If I was right, House was coming home at some point. Alone. If I was wrong, I wanted to hear it with my own ears.

I'd nearly fallen asleep, a victim of the red wine and scallopini not to mention the fact that it was past one in the morning, but there it was loud and clear.

"I still can't believe you've let me go all these years thinking I was in the clear. Can you imagine if Tritter had dug that thing up?"

That was Wilson all right. Sounding vaguely annoyed, but not the self-dramatizing, _never darken my doorway _stuff I'd heard at his place the last time House tried to talk to him. Fine, I'd pay off Chase and remind myself to avoid sucker bets.

"Tritter couldn't catch a real criminal if D.B. Cooper landed on top of him."

House sounded tired, but relaxed, more like a man who'd accomplished something than one who'd attended the funeral of a despised father.

"He nearly put your sorry ass away."

"With the help of your disloyal one." I'd heard about this Tritter creep, even pulled the trial transcripts. Apparently that was when things started going weird between Martin and Lewis and here they were joking about it. "Although it's still quite shapely. Not as good as Cuddy's, mind you."

"Well whose is?" Wilson shot back.

"I've missed it though."

House's voice sounded gruff, but somehow tender and that's when I got the idea that this wasn't just a comedy team.

I had one mike in the kitchen and one under the couch, none in the bedroom. I was half hoping they were going somewhere I couldn't hear, since I didn't think I was strong enough to stop on my own. Maybe I'm not just curious. You don't do this job unless you to like to watch…and listen.

All the jokes, the metaphors, the blatant "pining," and all the time I'd thought, _Nah, it can't be._

For one thing, I'd checked out Wilson. No, not that way. I mean I had a list going back to the girl who lived next door when he was eight years old and there wasn't even the hint that he might be anything but a hard-core heterosexual.

As far as House was concerned, he struck me as a guy who might do anything at anytime just to break up the monotony.

Hell, I'd even given it a try myself. A perfunctory touch of House's shoulder combined with a deep look, just to let him know I was up for it, if he were interested. He'd waved me off in a vague way. Not so much, "Get your fucking hands off me, you faggot" as "Dude, it's been a long day. Let's just jam."

No such exhaustion was coming across right now. Not in what sounded like some Hollywood-style smooching, heavy sighs, and a few choice expressions of exactly what it was that House had missed and what he wanted Wilson to do to him. Immediately.

I closed my eyes, trying to envision the scene, wondering how much could happen on the couch given House's disability, and what was really going on in Wilson's mind.

"House."

Did I hear lust or regret? Passion or hesitation? All of the above? Did I want House to get his best friend back or for Wilson to get away from this mad man? Or was it something else all together? Because maybe, just maybe, I liked hanging out with House myself, and I knew Cuddy was right. If this was happening now, there was no use for me. I'd send House my bill and maybe he'd actually pay it.

"God, Wilson…please."

I'd heard House sound depressed, tired, mocking and even desperate, but I'd never heard his low growl of a voice sound as sexy as it did at that moment. It went straight to my gut and then to my cock. I told you, I like listening, and I couldn't stop anymore than Wilson could stop himself from giving House everything he wanted. Whether it was mere companionship or what sounded liked a Class-A blowjob.

Long before House's voice had risen to its upper range in a crescendo of breathtaking obscenity, I had my pants unzipped. I wished I'd had time to get cameras in there. I wanted to see House's face. His pleasure was my pleasure, and if Wilson was the instrument of that pleasure so be it. The party was over and this was my last hurrah. Jerking off in an ice-cream truck, listening to these two men finding their way back to each other because if my job had taught me anything it was that lust is stronger than pride. Certainly mine was.

If I'd had any left, I might have turned the speakers off once House and I were both satisfied, but that still left the question of what Wilson would get out of it, beyond one of House's extremely backhanded compliments.

"You could put VIP Escorts out of business with that stuff."

"In case this oncology gig doesn't work out."

Wilson didn't sound particularly flattered, but I could hear clothes coming off and a small gasp. House was still talking, telling Wilson exactly what he was going to do to him next time, so I assumed the reciprocation was in the form of a hand-job for the time being. That made sense. It wasn't like House could get it up right away and do all that stuff he was talking about, even if he did get Cuddy to come over and do both of them at the same time. He was sure as hell getting to me though. Between his filthy mouth and that damn voice I thought I might have a full metal jacket before he'd finished getting Wilson off, but Wilson must have been on the brink for awhile. Longer than just the last five minutes, that's for sure. He was done before I'd gotten half hard. One of those guys who keeps it in so long that it sounds like pain when he finally lets it out. Maybe that was half the problem with those two.

I didn't know whether I was happy or sorry for them, but it was time to call it a night, since it was already past two in the morning. They had to be going to bed soon, right? All happy and cozy and cuddly, I thought, in what must have been a post-orgasm moment of self-deception, quickly shattered by the reality that this was Greg House I was listening to.

"What are you doing?"

House voice made it sound more like an accusation than a question.

"It's called getting dressed. Much as I'd like to embrace the naturalist lifestyle, I've had enough close encounters with the law for one day."

I could feel the tension from a block away, and I had the feeling this wasn't the first time they'd played some variation of this scene. House and Wilson, each needing the one thing the other was unable to give.

"You should call the landlord tomorrow and say you're moving out."

"I like having my own place.

"But it's not your own place, is it? It's Amber's. On the corner of Misery and Pathos. That must have been some pussy to keep you whipped after she's gone."

"Don't do this, House."

"Can you at least write me a script before you go? Cuddy's ass is awesome, but I'm tired of having to kiss it every time I need a refill."

"Please tell me there's more to this than just…"

"As if you didn't know? What is it you need to hear?"

"If you have to ask, then it doesn't matter."

Ouch. Buzz-kill in the extreme. I felt like…I don't know what I felt like. Those two turned on a dime and left anyone who cared about them hollowed out and bleeding. I'd thought Stacy Warner was a cold bitch, but now I realized she'd figured out the only way to survive this crap. Cuddy didn't seem to have learned the same lesson and now I pitied her more than I'd ever wanted her. I listened nearly breathless as Wilson left, saying he'd see House at work the next day.

So that was it? All the drama led back to the same old song and dance. Chase had called it all right. They'd be miserable together, except when they couldn't be together and then they'd still be miserable. Nice.

I was actually looking forward to sending in my bill, getting paid (or not) and getting the hell out of Dodge, when I heard the sound of a beer being opened and House saying matter-of-factly into the bug I had placed near the fridge,

"The coast is clear. You might as well come in for a while."

It was nearly three in the morning and I was exhausted, not to mention disgusted with House, Wilson and especially myself. I wanted to go home and take a very hot shower followed by a very cold one. I gave two seconds thought to telling House I'd reached my limit and he could go fuck himself. Except the speakers only went one way, so I had to actually go inside the apartment, and once inside it was easier to sit at the piano and show him some variations I'd worked out on Blue Monk. So much for the dramatic telling off. I guess getting caught eavesdropping didn't give me much in the moral authority department.

"You were right. He'll always come back."

"Course he will," House agreed, without looking up from the piano. "He's got nowhere else to go."

And for the time being, neither did I.


End file.
